Turned out my instincts were right. Two hours, a steak as big as my head, and one and a half scotches later, my mood had lifted to comfortably numb rather than totally freaked out.
"Ready to talk about it yet?" Damon asked, reaching for his half-empty glass. The light from the candles on the table sent shards of red reflections from his pinot noir dancing across the table.
What remained of the ice in my scotch clinked softly as I considered the question. I'd been waiting for him to steer the conversation in this direction. I hadn’t expected it to take several hours for him to get around to it. Hours that had slid by very easily with us just talking about anything other than chips and games and witches.
Maybe too easily. Talking to him was like talking to an old friend. But I'd had a little too much scotch to decide how I felt about that. It might take even more before I was ready to deal with all the shocks of the last day or so. "Not really."
His eyes narrowed, but then he seemed to decide to let it slide. He took a couple of swallows of wine and eased his chair back from the table.
Wise man.
We were the only two left in the tiny Nob Hill restaurant. The antique analog clock on the wall told me it was close to midnight.
The witching hour.
I slapped the thought away, swigged whiskey, and tried to think about a bath and Cassandra's herbs. Tried not to think about how good Damon looked right now. Or how Cassandra had said sex would be good for me. The warm glow of scotch was making it hard to remember why I shouldn't just follow her advice, especially while Damon's eyes held a glinting light that even slightly tipsy me couldn't pretend was strictly professional.
"We should get going," I said, holding on to my sense of self-preservation with an increasingly slippery grasp.
"Okay."
His easy agreement stung. And those instincts of mine that I kept such a tight rein on muttered low in my belly, everything female and interested and in need of some . . . grounding, rebelling. I wasn't quite ready to let him disappear into the night yet. Apparently scotch and surgery and unpleasant revelations didn't exactly enhance my ability to be logical. "Can we stop at my office?"
"At this hour?"
I held out my shielded wrist. "If I have to do the rest of your job the old-fashioned way, then there's some stuff I need. It won't take long." Just long enough for me to grab things and check in with my service.
Now that I was chipless and likely to remain so, I needed to think about my next client. Even if Damon was serious about wanting to keep me on for now, I wasn't going to be much use to him in the future with no chip.
So I needed to start planning. No rest for the wicked after all.
Damon paid the check with a minimum of fuss, and twenty minutes later, I let myself into my tiny office, waving the lights into half-life. Any brighter would just wake me up, and I was enjoying the nice floaty feeling I had going on.
It stopped me from thinking too hard.
Damon stood near the door, watching me as I powered up my system. Light and shadow from the adscreens on the opposite building played across his face and my breath caught.
Damn. The man was hot.
He caught me looking. "What?"
I ducked my head. "Nothing. I won't be much longer."
"Maggie." His voice was a low rumble in the darkness. "You're avoiding."
"Discretion is the better part of valor." I looked up and found him right next to me. Warm. Solid. Smelling like man and strength and spice and, ever so faintly, of wine. In other words, yummy.
Heat scorched over my face. I looked back at the screen, but the letters and images made no sense at all.
"Maggie," he repeated. "You can talk to me."
His voice rolled through me like heavy bass, sinking through my skin and lighting fires as it did. Talking so wasn't what I wanted. And I was worried that I might just be dumb enough to reach out for what I'd been trying to deny all week.
He moved closer still, and his arm brushed mine.
"Oh, what the hell," I said, making my mind up for once. Sex with Damon Riley had to be better than ceremonial baths with stinky herbs. I grabbed his tie and pulled his head down to me, seeking oblivion.
Our lips touched and I tasted him. Then his tongue moved against mine, and things got a little blurry in a way that had nothing at all to do with scotch. I pulled back when they finally cleared and stared up at him, breathing hard. "What was that?"
Damon grinned, seeming somewhat stunned. "I don't know. Let's do it again."
He kissed me again, and things got way beyond blurry as I let myself let go. I wanted his hands on me, but at the same time felt like I might explode if he touched me. My nipples ached as I wrapped my arms around his neck and hung on for dear life, riding the heat.
His hand slid between us and flicked open the top two buttons of my shirt. He barely paused before his hand was inside the fabric and brushing the lace of my bra. Two fingers captured one nipple and rubbed it exactly right. I purred against his mouth, unable to stop myself.
"Like that, do you? Good," he muttered and did it again. At which point my Sara side took over and sanity fled the room.
I reached down and did some unbuttoning of my own, dispatching zippers and layers of cloth until I had him, hot and hard against my hand.
"Jesus, Maggie. Are you trying to kill me?"
"No, just fuck you." I tightened my grip.
He didn't need much encouragement. He lifted me in one swift movement and turned. The edge of the desk bit into the backs of my thighs, and several stacks of miscellaneous desk crap slipped and crashed to the floor as he swept the surface clean. He kissed me harder and we did the blurry thing again, though this time it didn't clear when he stopped. His hand slid under my skirt, and the other arm pulled my hips toward him. He pressed hard against the fabric of my panties even as his hand moved to shove the barrier aside.
He paused one last time as his cock slid against me. "Any last words?"
I looked at him and smiled. "Yes," I said, then arched to take him.
"You got it," he said and began to move.
Is this what grounded feels like?
The thought drifted across my mind sometime later as I lay on my back on the floor, breathing heavily and feeling no pain. I would've thought grounded meant solid and real, not boneless and floating.
But I couldn't bring myself to care too much about the definition. Not after what we'd just done.
Or who I'd just done. Damon Riley. Right here in my office. On my desk. And it had been fabulous.
A grin spread across my face and I stretched. Besides me, Damon stirred and rolled onto his side. The look on his face made me smile harder.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself," I replied and moved closer.
"I think we should do that again." I nodded before I could think. He sat up. "But not here." He laced his fingers into mine and pulled me to my feet.
"Where are we going?" I asked, not caring.
"My place," he said, releasing my hands and kissing me quickly before bending to pick up his clothes.
I followed suit, finding my jacket and shoes and skirt, fastening my bra and buttoning the shirt. Not the easiest task given several buttons had gone AWOL. I was still hunting for my panties and stacking things haphazardly on my desk when Damon came up behind me.
"You're taking too long," he growled into my ear. I forgot all about underwear and organization and turned into his embrace. This time the kiss was longer and hotter.
"Patience," he said, breaking for air. I made a sound in protest, but he just grabbed my hand and led me toward the door, snagging my bag from the chair as he passed.
The car was waiting at the curb, the driver standing by the open back door.
"Home, fast," Damon said as I stepped into the car and slid along the smooth leather of the seat. A few seconds later he followed, touching a button that blacked the screen between us and the driver as he pulled the door shut behind him with his other hand.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
Damon grinned, teeth very white in the dim light. "Don't worry, he can't hear us. Now come here. I'm not wasting half an hour." He slid partway toward me on the seat.
My brain reeled and my cheeks flamed. The driver was approximately two feet away, screen or no screen. "We can't do that here. We're in a car."
He laughed. "As opposed to an office? This is softer, for one thing." He reached out and ran a hand up my leg, sending shivers of pleasure along my nerve endings.
My resolve wavered. "Well, I guess we could fool around a little."
"Good." He pulled me toward him and kissed me, hot and sweet and hungry all at once.
That much I could handle. I let myself flow into it, reveling in the play of lips and tongues and skin.
After a long moment, his hands began to roam over my body, and I decided I could handle that too. In fact, I could return the favor. It was when his fingers moved to my few remaining buttons that my brain took over again.
"What are you doing?" I asked against his mouth. His hand had reached my breast, and I arched into him despite myself.
"Hopefully you," he said. "Stop thinking, Maggie."
I pulled away, jerking my head toward the front of the car. "Your driver is right there."
"And I told you, he can't hear anything. Or see anything." His voice was thick with the heat circling us. It did interesting things to my stomach.
He took advantage of the space between us to kneel on the seat. There was plenty of room—the limo was huge. I made a mental note to talk to him about environmental responsibility before his hands were on me again, and somehow I ended up on my back, leather soft underneath me and Damon hard above me.
He found my mouth before I could say anything, and I went boneless and breathless and wanting again.
My mind hadn't completely gone though. He began to kiss his way down my body, circling and tracing my skin with his tongue. His right hand pushed my skirt up and I remembered the no underwear issue at the same moment his fingers slid into me. I tried to wriggle away, but that only made it feel better as he moved with me.
"What are you doing?" I managed to say before he moved again and I gasped.
His tongue circled my navel before he raised his head. "Stopping you thinking," he said. "Is it working?"
He bent his head again and moved even lower, skipping the roll of fabric that was my skirt and finding the skin of my upper thigh. He slid his fingers inside me again, and I moaned and twisted.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said softly, and then his mouth closed over me, hot and soft and God, so right. I forgot about the driver, forgot about where I was, forgot about everything but Damon and his touch and his tongue and the heat until I couldn't take it anymore and I came, screaming.
"We're here," Damon announced shortly after. I raised my head and looked at him blankly. "We're here," he repeated, and I realized the car had stopped.
"Shit." I scrambled into an upright position, trying to straighten my clothes for the second time. The driver would be opening that back door any minute and—
"Slow down," Damon said. "The driver's gone. He's very, um, understanding." He grinned at me, and I felt myself blushing at the thought of the guy—I really needed to learn his name—being discreet because he knew his boss was doing wonderful things to me in the back seat. The man didn't even look like he knew the meaning of discreet.
"Shit," I said again. "I guess he's had lots of practice." I glared at Damon, feeling stupid. Of course he had done this before. He was rich and sexy, and women would be dying to get into his goddamn stretch limousine. I shoved the top button of my shirt closed with enough force to make it fly off.
"No," Damon said. "I'm not that guy. Don't believe what you might have read in the press about me. And you're thinking too much again." He kissed me, lips soft as his voice, and I felt the anger and embarrassment melt away.
"Sorry, I'm not good at this."
His dimples leapt into life. "Oh, I think you're good at it," he said in his deadly purr.
I blushed as a goofy grin spread across my face.
"So can we get out of the car now?" he continued. "Fond as I suddenly am of desks and cars, I happen to have this great bed upstairs and a whole lot of ideas."
Despite the fact that I was already three orgasms in, heat stirred again. The man was a genius.
"Then what's taking you so long?" I said and pushed him toward the door.
When I finally woke, the room wasn't fully dark. Hints of daylight were escaping from behind the thick curtains. Morning, my brain decided, but very early. I shut my eyes again, settling back against the warmth of solid male behind me. His arm tightened around me and I smiled. My first impression had been right—he definitely knew all about sinning.
And whether due to great sex or sheer exhaustion or something else altogether, I'd slept. Slept like the dead. No dreams. Better yet, no nightmares.
It was vaguely unsettling, but I wanted more. I tried to slow my breathing and slip under again, but my bladder had other ideas. I wriggled out from under Damon's arm, watching as he rolled over and curled into the covers like a cat, and then sat up on the edge of the vast bed.
Where was the bathroom?
I studied the room in the dim morning light. It was big enough to make the bed seem small. Curtains covered the length of wall opposite the bed, possibly blue, though it was hard to tell. No bathroom there though. To my left was the door I could vaguely remember tumbling through after our mad dash through the house last night. I looked right, making out two faint outlines that could be doors. Closet and bathroom, I decided. I would just have to take a guess.
I padded across the thick carpet to the nearest door, then stopped, confused. No door handle. I put my hand on the smooth wood and the door swung open, revealing gleaming glass and mirrors. Good guess. I stepped inside and the door swung shut behind me, making no noise. Neat, but hopefully powered by something that had lots of backups.
I took care of my most pressing need and stood at the sink to wash my hands, gawking at the luxurious room. It was big, big enough to hold a huge tub, a separate shower that looked large enough for three people with multiple shower heads sprouting from the blue and white tile, cabinets, and the room-length vanity that held two sinks. Soft lights had sprung to life when I first walked in, and brighter ones had switched on as I approached the long counter and the massive pristine mirror hanging above it.
Despite the lipstick long lost to Damon's kisses, and the tousled hair, I looked good. Damon obviously agreed with me.
My hands slowed under the stream of water.
He agreed with me?
Oh no. Bad thought. This was supposed to be mindless sex to take my mind away from the mess of my life. Exactly what the witch doctor ordered.
There weren't supposed to be any warm and fuzzy feelings. I didn't do warm and fuzzy feelings with men. Especially not with clients.
Just sex. One night only.
The woman in the mirror looked skeptical. My body agreed with her. It wanted more.
My body and my reflection were idiots.
Idiots who were in charge, because even though the smart thing would've been to go back out there, gather up my clothes, call a cab, and leave, I found myself drawn to the bed like it was magnetized.
I slid under the covers carefully, keeping space between us, telling myself I'd just sleep for a few more hours. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, Damon rolled, catching his arm around me and pulling me back against his chest. He had done it several times during the night, each time filling me with a ridiculous glow of warmth and safety and contentment.
"Your feet are cold," he said sleepily into the top of my head, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver of pleasure through me. I snuggled closer. Apparently I wasn't ready to go anywhere just yet.
I sighed and relaxed against him. "Go back to sleep," I said, then listened to his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against my skin slow and deepen.
When I was sure he was asleep, I let myself do the same.
I was alone when I woke. I sat up, feeling small in the big empty space. Someone, Damon presumably, had half opened the curtains, and clear sunlight flooded in. At last I could see where I was. Apart from my bathroom excursion, last night's impressions had pretty much been limited to big room, soft mattress, and hot naked guy. Without said hot naked guy distracting me, I was curious to see what his bedroom looked like.
Simple. Simple but expensive, I amended. White walls, deep blue curtains, plain lamps made out of the same pale wood as the bed. In front of the window was a huge squishy chaise, currently draped with Damon's jacket. The walls were broken by several large pictures—no, movie posters. Old sci-fi and adventure stuff: Star Wars and Indiana Jones and The Lord of the Rings, even a King Kong. Worth a lot if they were originals. Damon obviously shared Nat's retro taste. A gamer thing, I guess.
Speaking of Damon, where was he? I wrestled with my conscience. Part of me knew I should get dressed and leave, but part of me wanted to stay. Without Damon himself to weaken my resolve, logic won.
Things would be better if I left. Hopefully I'd done my aura some good last night, but if I started spinning the scenario into something longer term, then more important things than my aura were at stake. Like my job.
And maybe, if I was completely honest with myself and listened to the tiny voice of protest as I stepped out of the bed, my heart.
My clothes had formed a small, wrinkled pile at the foot of the bed. I picked them up, pulling a face. The shirt had lost a button and my skirt resembled a rag. The combination of hospital and incense and sweat and sex covering everything made my nose wrinkle.
I couldn't wear any of it.
I headed for the other door near the bathroom. Bingo, a walk-in closet. I pulled a white shirt off a hanger at random and slipped into it, then found a pair of boxers and sweats that fit me once I cuffed them a few times.
My shoes were fine. The outfit wasn't going to win me any style points, but at least it was clean.
Now if only I knew where I was.
Walking back to the window, I pulled the curtains all the way back and looked out onto a vista of manicured garden. Tall trees edged the expanse of perfect lawn and neat garden beds. Beyond them I caught glimpses of pale walls and big windows and tiled roofs that suggested other big houses, but nothing that gave me a landmark.
Apparently I'd paid no attention at all last night in the car.
My cheeks heated as I remembered exactly what I had been doing last night. The slight stiffness of my body as I stretched my arms reminded me as well.
"Now there's a pleasant view."
I spun to see Damon at the door, wearing a dark blue robe and carrying a tray that wafted good smells.
"Hi," he said. "Nice shirt." He walked over and put the tray down on the bed before joining me by the window.
"I hope you don't mind, but my things are kind of . . . ." I wrinkled my nose and waved at the pile.
Damon looked at me, then deliberately slid his gaze down my body and up again. I fought the urge to do up a few more buttons as heat rose in the wake of his eyes.
His eyes darkened to a shade close to his robe. "I don't mind. In fact, you can steal my clothes any time."
"Thanks." I turned away as he reached for me, unnerved by the strength of my attraction in the clear light of day. I couldn't blame alcohol or shock or stress now. And Damon didn't look any less appealing.
And then, to add to my confusion, there was the memory of the things we had done last night. "Is that breakfast?"
He nodded. "You were sleeping pretty hard. I didn't want to wake you."
I paused in my investigation of the tray, croissant in hand. I had slept well. All night. I hoped it was due to the fact that I no longer had a demon hanging on to me rather than being in Damon's bed. "That was nice of you."
I bit into the croissant, not knowing what else to say. I wasn't used to the morning-after process. I usually kicked the guy out before the sleeping part. Feeling awkward made me cranky. What exactly was the etiquette for waking up with your boss?
Damon passed me coffee in silence, and I wondered if he felt as weird as I did. Maybe he was just trying to work out the polite way to kick me out after all.
"You know, I can just get going . . . ."
"What's the rush?"
"Well, for one thing, I need to go home and change. I can't go into work dressed like this." I gestured at the shirt with the croissant.
"It's okay with the boss, if that makes you feel any better." He wiggled his eyebrows at me, swigging coffee.
"Not really."
"Then buy something online. They can deliver it here. Besides, it’s the weekend. I know we’re all hands on deck, but you need to take it easy. Are you registered anywhere?"
I shook my head, mouth full of flaky pastry that tasted almost as good as him. "No." Registration meant custom sizing, body scans, and tailoring. All in the comfort of your own computer. My budget was definitely off the shelf only.
"But you know your sizes, right?" He gave me another look that seemed to say he could make a pretty good guess at them himself.
I nodded, taking another bite. The memory of his hands sliding over my skin warmed my cheeks.
"Good." He crossed to me and took the non-croissant hand. "Come on."
As soon as his fingers tangled with mine, my resistance melted again and I followed obediently.
He only let go of my hand when we reached another room across the hallway, and then only long enough to lay his palm against the very expensive security scanner. I took one last bite and wiped my hands free of crumbs as I followed him through the door.
"It's me," he said, and lights sprang to life as a screen slid up from the big mahogany desk. "Access shopping channels." He steered me across the room and motioned for me to take the chair.
The room was clean and uncluttered. I assumed most of his work paraphernalia would be hidden away until needed, like the screen.
"Knock yourself out," Damon said, leaning on the desk next to me.
I tried to ignore the scent of him and the heat radiating off his body under the robe. Mostly I tried to ignore the very nice chest I was getting an eyeful of. I focused on the screen, looking for names I recognized. Luckily there were a few stores in my price range. I touched a logo and sorted swiftly through the choices.
"I'm paying for this," I said, risking a glance at Damon. No way was he paying for my clothes.
He shrugged. "Fine. This is all connected to my account, but I'll copy the bill to you and take it out of your fee."
"Good." I selected pants and a shirt and added underwear as quickly as possible.
"Finished?" Damon asked as I dropped my hands. At my nod, he touched a couple of keys to finalize the order. "Should be an hour or so. The gate guard will bring it up to Amy."
"Amy?"
"My housekeeper."
"You have a housekeeper?" And a gate guard? Right. Rich. I needed to remember that. Rich. Rich. Rich. Out of my league. Off-limits. Good reminder.
I blushed as another thought struck me. We hadn't exactly made it to the bedroom immediately last night. I had tackled him on the stairs and repaid the service he had done me in the car. Neither of us had been quiet. All the time with a housekeeper somewhere in the house?
"Yes. But she doesn't sleep here." He must have read my mind. "And the security system doesn’t record authorized guests."
Cameras? Authorized guests? I vaguely remembered a flash of red as we walked inside the front door. A body scan. I was an authorized person after one night? Hopefully he was telling the truth. I didn't relish the thought of being the star of some security drone's vidporn fantasy.
"Scout's honor."
I looked up at him, all gorgeous and reassuring. He smelled wonderful too. Why was I resisting again? After all, we had another hour to kill. "Kiss me and I'll believe you."
"A lady after my own heart," he said. He held out his hand and I took it as I stood. "And now that’s done, we have this hour or so . . . ."
I batted my eyelashes at him. "Why, however are we going to fill the time?"
He pulled me close. "Well, I don't know about you but last night, while great, was very—"
"Very what?"
He began kissing my neck. "Very fast." Kiss. "And hot." Kiss. "And dark." Kiss. My legs started to tremble. "I wanna see what we can do when it's light."
I couldn't speak. The thought of him and me and a light-flooded room had dried my mouth.
He picked me up effortlessly, no mean feat. "And," he added, "I want to see what you look like when I take things slow. Very slow."
Me too.
I tightened my arms around his neck and let him sweep me away.